Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Robbie
My gut’s in knots as I wait for Brandon to come outside. This is either gonna be the moment I cement our relationship as the most epic romance in history … or he realizes exactly what he signed up for and suddenly remembers he’s straight again.
If that’s the case, it’s probably better I find out now.
Then I have months to put my heart back together.
The thing is, if we’re doing this, what he’s signed on for is me. And what I am is a gigantic idiot who’s always causing a scene.
My life partner can’t scare easily, and if this scares him off, it wasn’t meant to be.
As much as that makes me want to put a stop to this whole thing, I also know Brandon better than that.
I think.
I guess I’m about to find out.
My breath is caught in my chest, and I don’t move as I watch the door open and Brandon and Zeke walk outside.
Brandon stands there for a moment, hands in his pockets, before he slowly makes his way toward me.
He’s wearing the scarf I made him, the green bringing out his eyes, and seeing him helps me breathe properly again.
“What are you doing?”
I crook my finger for him to keep coming closer.
He’s clearly confused, and the look on his face is making me second-guess every decision that brought me to this moment.
He glances back at Zeke, then at me, then at where the entrance to the street is blocked off.
I have no idea what’s going through his head.
But then a smile spreads over his face.
Thank fuck.
That one look tells me that whatever I have planned, Brandon is on board with it all.
He trusts me.
Completely.
He’s perfect.
“What are you planning?” he asks.
I step forward and drop a quick kiss onto his nose. “Something for us to always remember.” My voice is picked up by my mic and projected through the street.
Then the drums start.
Brandon
I can always tell when Robbie is up to something. There’s this spark he gets in his eyes, this aura of overwhelming confidence—like he’s trying not to be impressed with himself but can’t help it.
In the past, it’s a look that’s always worried me. A look that has promised trouble is coming and I’m the one who will be left to clean it up.
But while Robbie has always put fun first, even without having to say the words, I know that things have changed.
I’m first.
And he knows all the things I worry about when it comes to big pranks and dangerous antics, so when he steps back and throws his arms out to the side, I don’t even flinch.
I just trust.
That what I’m about to witness will be epic.
At the first roll of the drums, my heart surges into my throat and won’t go back down again. I think there’s a horn and then some other instruments I can’t make out because my gaze is locked on Robbie as he opens his mouth and sings the first few lines to Queen’s “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.”
My man is good at a lot of things, but singing is not one of them, and yet …
And yet, there’s something about the way he owns it. About how he pushes his voice and throws in his own words and doesn’t shy away from the big notes that makes … that makes it work.
Dear frat fathers.
Robbie is making a complete fool of himself in the middle of Greek Row.
And I’ve never been more attracted to him in my life.
And as he sings about not being able to handle love, his voice is as off-key and gruff as it normally is, but his eyes are locked on mine, and that ever-present confidence is radiating from him.
Somehow, the way he’s owning the song makes him sound better.
I can’t look away.
I can’t stop smiling.
He’s dramatic and over-the-top, and when he throws in a kick and some ad-lib dance moves, a laugh slips out of me.
My reaction lights him the fuck up.
He winks, and I fall for him all over again.
Then the third verse starts, and all hell breaks loose.
As soon as Robbie sings, “There goes my Brando …” a fucking marching band pours from the gaps between the houses.
They fill the street, marching in formation, a flood of WHU green and white behind Robbie in his goddamn cargo pants and shit-eating grin. He launches into the chorus, and my head spins at the uniformity as they turn and kick and move in the same direction.
Brothers from the other frat houses fill the street next, and it’s a struggle to hold in my amusement. There’re sparklers and air horns, signs with Robbie hearts Brandon. People every-fucking-where, and it hits me that this is the effect he has on people.
Robbie promises fun, and people show up.
He can barely be heard over the music, which is a good thing, but the energy all around us spurs him on.
His confidence amplifies.
And maybe this song was chosen on a whim, but Robbie does drive me crazy.
He throws in some extra yeahs and oohs and more hip thrusts than should be legal, and my head falls back on a laugh.
There’s no being cool or relaxing when it comes to us.
I have no idea where to look. The band, the people filing out of the other houses to crowd around and dance on their lawns, or my boyfriend, who’s pulling off none of the moves or the notes and yet killing his performance in every way.
The more I watch him, the more everyone else around us fades to nothing.
And maybe I should be feeling some kind of embarrassment or urge to hide, but all I can think is that this dude in front of me is all mine, and I’m never letting him get away.
Who else can say their boyfriend has done something like this for him?
The marching band? The dancers?
I jump at a loud bang and an explosion of color as confetti fills the air.
My frat brothers line the street, letting off more confetti cannons, while others fill the air with bubbles. I have one brief moment of worry about the cannons, and then … I let go.
I’m low-key in shock at the sensory overload. Trying to hold in uncontrollable laughter.
Robbie grabs my hand. He steers me into a spin, then dips me back over his arm. I don’t fight him, just fall into the moment, caught up in his orbit.
Until his eyes meet mine and he sings, “I’m fucking ready, for this goddamn thing called love.”
Robbie
The song comes to an end, and I dunno what Brandon’s thinking. Was it too much? Too soon?
Then the bastard laughs, grabs my face, and kisses me.
The band moves on to another song, and our brothers hoot and holler like the animals they are, but screw them all. I kiss Brandon with everything I’m worth. Zero chill, no holding back, I claim my man in front of the hundreds of people here, and I have no shame whatsoever about doing it.
“Did you mean it?” he asks when he pulls away.
“What?”
“The song.” His face suddenly drops. “I’m reading too much into it, aren’t I? Shit, I mean. That was awesome. Cool. I—”
“I love you. I’m crazy in love with you, Brando. And when I say crazy”—I indicate the chaos around us—“I mean it. I would do literally anything to see you smile.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that.”
“Yikes. That’s what a guy wants to hear when he’s spilling his heart.”
Brandon looks so happy, his vamp teeth are on full display. “Of course I love you. I think I always have.”
I scoop down and lift him, and he immediately wraps his legs around my waist. Then I kiss him again. His tongue spears into my mouth, strokes over mine, and I suck on it before he pulls back and bites down on my lip.
“Take me upstairs,” he says. His tone is so fucking needy and perfect … and unfortunately caught by the mic and broadcast over the street.
Chad approaches and pats my back. “Sorry, Brando, you’re going to have to wait.”
He groans. “Why?”
“Because,” Zeke says, joining us. “Your boyfriend has started a street-wide party, and I won’t be the one monitoring it.”
“Beer’s here,” Bailey calls.
“Perfect.” Chad grabs his boyfriend and kisses him.
Jesus fuck, is all this romance contagious?
Look at me setting a good example.
“Deal with it,” Zeke says, leaving.
But as soon as his back is turned, I grab Brandon’s hand and pull him toward the house. “If we’re fast, I bet we can get off and get back here before he notices.”
“You’re on.”